


state of imaginary grace

by RennieOnIceCream (Hitsugi_Zirkus)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Feelings Realization, Fluff, M/M, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-29 22:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10146110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hitsugi_Zirkus/pseuds/RennieOnIceCream
Summary: Yuuri leaned into one hand, his soft, round cheeks coloring a dark pink. Viktor could swear he could feel the satin heat of that blush against his palm.“We’re skaters, so we’re always on the rink and cold. I’m not used to suddenly being touched by something warm,” Yuuri finally said with the smallest of laughs.“Oh, true." Viktor recalled teasing Yuri and Georgi's midriffs with his chilly fingers before. Today though... Today Viktor had made sure that his hands were warm.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I wanted to write this after episode 9 aired. Some lines I wrote at like 1am had been sitting in my phone for months though when I finally decided to finish this. 
> 
> I really wanted to write something that emphasized Viktor giving Yuuri a bunch of physical affirmations that he would stay with him. So lots of touching and ice metaphors here lol. So naturally I used "I Melt With You" by Modern English lyrics for the fic title lol.

“You’re warm.” 

Yuuri sounded surprised, his eyebrows arching. 

It was such an endearing look that Viktor couldn’t help but laugh fondly in the back of his throat. His hands cradling Yuuri’s cold wrists skated up his arms to hold his face. 

“Is it really such a shock?”

He was thankful that Yuuri didn’t slip away from his touch, as he was so prone to do whenever Viktor got close; especially after a practice like today when Yuuri had gotten visibly frustrated at messing up his jumps, his impatience pushing him further until he over-rotated and fell. He’d been so upset, muttering apologies in English and Japanese over and over (Viktor didn’t know a lot of Japanese, but thanks to Yuuri, it was the quivering lilt of “ _ gomenasai _ ” that he learned first).

If Viktor couldn’t figure out what to do in situations like this, then he’d never get far as Yuuri’s coach; he’d never trust himself to Viktor. 

But Viktor… He was bad with words. He was a first-class figure skater who had neglected the subtle, cherished nuances of verbally communicating life and love in order to decorate his breast with gold medals. Because of that, he’d already shattered quite a few glass hearts from his careless tones and phrases. 

So he resorted to what he knew best: action. 

Touching Yuuri. Squeezing his shoulders. Running his palm down his back. Holding him close. Smiling at him. Intertwining their hands.

Cradling his face like he was the most precious thing. 

Yuuri leaned into one hand, his soft, round cheeks coloring a dark pink. Viktor could swear he could feel the satin heat of that blush against his palm.

“We’re skaters, so we’re always on the rink and cold. I’m not used to suddenly being touched by something warm,” Yuuri finally said with the smallest of laughs. 

“Oh, true." Viktor recalled teasing Yuri and Georgi's midriffs with his chilly fingers before. Today though... Today Viktor had made sure that his hands were warm. "Do you hate it?”

Yuuri shook his head. “It’s -- really nice.” His own hands came up to cover Viktor’s, the cold press of his palm against the hard bone of Viktor’s knuckles.

“Get used to it,” Viktor said with confidence. “Because these hands will continue to support you.”

_ Whenever you need it, these hands will give you reassurance _ .

* * *

Japanese people weren’t accustomed to sudden public displays of affection, much less from such an excitable foreigner as Viktor. Yuuri was prickly enough to get close to without his modest cultural upbringing. Accordingly, Viktor wanted to respect Yuuri’s boundaries as he promised he would that cloudy day on Hasetsu’s briny beach.

But then he watched Yuuri skate in intricate circles and jumps before him, his skates carving into the ice, the blades kicking up snow that sparkled in a dazzling display around Yuuri. And when he did manage to complete  _ Yuri on Ice _ for the first time without a blunder, Viktor knew he was smiling wide and beaming proudly after his dear athlete.

Yuuri looked surprised when he took his final stance, reaching right out for Viktor, the culmination of his love directed right at him. Breathless, cheeks stained pink, Yuuri couldn’t seem to believe it, that it was working, that he was finally unfurling something deep inside himself like a long-slumbering flower. His love in all its forms were taking shape.

Viktor could see it. He could start to see Yuuri clearly, the rough-cut ice of his heart also taking a cleaner shape, the frost refined to a transparent glass that Viktor could almost peer into and gaze into Yuuri himself.

_ Ahh… Just a little more of that sight. I want to see into your crystal ice just a little more _ .

Yuuri remained frozen, lowering his arm as Viktor skated towards him. “Ah,” he said, gaze sweeping everywhere else. “H-how was… Was that okay? Did you see? I-I didn’t stumble, Viktor.” It was such a small thing, something juniors got excited over, not the most prolific skater in Japan. 

But Yuuri was always moved by the small things, and that made him so precious. So Viktor wasn’t hesitant to praise him.

“I saw~” He glided to a stop right in front of Yuuri, and when he was close enough, he pulled him in for a hug, his arms so full of Yuuri and ready to support him when Yuuri nearly slipped. 

“Whoa, Viktor!”

Viktor laughed, settling his hands near the base of Yuuri’s spine, where the firm curve of his butt began. 

The muscles of Yuuri’s biceps and back tensed, his chest stuttering a last breath. But he patted his hands over Viktor’s back, as if trying to tell himself that Viktor was here and solid and  _ holding  _ him, unsure if he should reciprocate or not. He ultimately settled uncertain hands right on his shoulders.

“You did so well, Yura~,” Viktor said into his sweat-sheened hair. Even with cold and sweat clinging to him, Yuuri smelled wonderful. “You still have a lot of details to take care of, and you were shaky on some landings, but you  _ did it _ . And,” he lowered his voice, speaking right at Yuuri’s ear, “you can definitely do it again, and even better than before. Don’t doubt it for a second.”

Yuuri trembled. Was it a chill? Was he crying? Was he itching to get out of Viktor’s arms?  Viktor pulled back to examine his face. His chapped lips were pressed together, but his eyes were wide, reflecting a determination to believe in Viktor’s words. 

“Y-yeah…” 

“Alright~” Viktor squeezed him in his arms once more, then backed out of the rink. “Now then, once more!”

* * *

Katsuki Yuuri was made of frosted, roughly-cut ice.

One would have to infer then, that he was a cold person, a callous person. To be made of ice, he had to possess and be dictated by no emotion whatsoever. Viktor had met plenty of skaters that were like this, that aspired to become invincible and untouchable like this.

This was not the case for Yuuri, who let every slight emotion sway him with the power of a force of nature, snowstorms heavy on his shoulders. But his smiles were warm when they were drawn out and his laughs and passion on the rink melted Viktor’s heart. 

Katsuki Yuuri was not frigid, but he was simultaneously strong and beautiful and fragile. He was a figure skater and his heart was always in danger of shattering into a thousand sparkling pieces. If Viktor held Yuuri in his hands for too long, sometimes his skin became raw from the cold, trying to get to know Yuuri beyond his rough, anxious and superficial surface. 

The bite of ice was strong. Viktor would know.

But, sometimes, Yuuri melted. 

* * *

Viktor messed up once, down in that parking lot in China.

Up until that point, just Viktor’s touch could calm Yuuri down. He’d stop his hurried butterfly breathing and his terrible shaking as soon as Viktor gathered him in his arms. But gestures like that seemed to have lost their effect once it came to larger competitions.

Yuuri was an anxious mess. Viktor didn’t know he could get this bad, to the point of not sleeping, of being unable to stay still then getting so dizzy he’d bump into walls. Viktor tried to pin him to a stand-still by gripping his shoulders, tried to squeeze his hand, tried to hold his face, anything to let him know that he was  _ here  _ to support him -- but Yuuri pushed away from all of it.

Viktor was at the end of his rope. But he didn’t want Yuuri to freeze up again, to become so cold to the touch again that no one would be able to feel his love on the ice. 

Which led Viktor Nikiforov to do what he did best after figure skating.

It was supposed to be an act of tough love, something to kick Yuuri into action, even if in desperation. In retrospect, it was an incredibly stupid thing to have done, when he remembered back to Yuuri’s panic to win during the Hot Springs on Ice. Viktor realized it even before Yuuri started crying, the type that shook his whole body and scrunched up his face in a blotchy, teary mess and--

_ Viktor Nikiforov you are terrible with feelings and a huge asshole _ , he chastised himself, as if he didn’t already know this.

Unable to think of anything else to say, Viktor rebounded back to action. 

“I’m not good with people crying in front of me. I don’t know what I should do,” he admitted, rubbing a tired hand at the back of his neck. “Should I just kiss you or something?” He’d yet to try that out of respect for Yuuri’s boundaries, but if it was what Yuuri wanted to help him...

Yuuri sounded offended that Viktor even offered it. And apparently he was quite fed up with Viktor making so many mistakes in reassuring him that he spelled out what it was he needed, searching for words that Viktor hadn’t been able to give form to yet. 

“ _ Just stay close to me! _ ” he cried, the crack of his voice echoing in the parking lot, reverberating in the still chambers of Viktor’s heart; Yuuri giving voice to what Viktor had only been able to skate all those months ago in Tokyo.

And Viktor started to wonder. He watched Yuuri skate out onto the ice and he started to really wonder for the first time about what it was to stay close to someone. Physically, he was quite present in supporting Yuuri, in giving him all the reassurance he needed to stand on his own. His hands and arms were growing quite accustomed to the shape and coolness of Yuuri’s body. 

But… Watching Yuuri skate his love with a secret smile, so light from the release of his burdens that he seemed to be floating above the ice, Viktor could start to understand right along with him, as if they were skating side-by-side. 

And then, with one quadruple flip, Yuuri really did soar -- even if for a split second before he fell onto the ice.

Viktor felt like he heard the sound of something shattering, like splintering ice -- a realization, a breakthrough, the electric shock of something so surprising that it overwhelmed the heart in pure emotion, too much to give name to. Viktor didn’t have words for it, and he wasn’t going to even try looking for them now as he made a frenzied dash for the kiss and cry.

He’d do it properly now. It  _ felt  _ right, his body pulling him forward to Yuuri as if by some magnetic force, his every cell singing his name, his arms aching to be filled with Yuuri again--

“Viktor, did you see that? I did great, right!?”

Viktor paused for just a moment to meet his eyes then leapt forward. The large, dazzling smile on Yuuri’s lips changed shape, waning, his lips slightly parted in confusion--

Then...

...there was just sensation.

Yuuri. Soft. Full. Cold and chapped, melting under the press of Viktor’s mouth as he swallowed down Yuuri’s gasp.

Their first kiss. He was glad Yuuri had refused him in the parking lot -- it would’ve been such a tense, pacifying gesture.

But this --  _ this  _ that Viktor felt pulsing hotly through his whole body, warming him from the core out even as he and Yuuri laid on the ice, staring into each other’s eyes… It was a gesture of affirmation. Of reciprocation. 

Of love. 

* * *

China had been Viktor’s way of showing Yuuri that he heard and understood his words to stay close to him.

Viktor had to put that to the test when he left Yuuri behind in Russia. 

He watched the free skate program on Yu-topia’s television with bated breath, holding a recovered Makkachin close to him and weaving his fingers into the thick, warm fur. His beloved pooch knew that this was Viktor’s own way of seeking comfort; it had been since he was a teenager. 

Viktor watched Yuuri stand there on the ice, chest heaving with calming breaths, eyes straining to focus, and it was a posture and expression Viktor  _ knew  _ \-- but he wasn’t there to grab Yuuri’s shoulders and tell him that he could _ do this _ .

_ Remember -- remember I told you that you can do this _ .

And Yuuri fought on that ice with everything he had. He still stumbled worse than if Viktor were there, and it made Viktor mutter incessantly to himself in Russian. The Katsuki and Nishigori families couldn’t even poke fun at him for it, so engrossed in Yuuri’s program themselves.

Viktor tensed and gasped and clutched at Makkachin as Yuuri danced on the ice, and for the first time, he realized that this was probably what it felt like to be a figure skater’s audience. He’d watched countless performances before, but he’d never felt such a gripping anticipation and overflowing hope as he did being Katsuki Yuuri’s adoring spectator. 

When it was over, Viktor couldn’t meet Yuuri at the kiss and cry. But he smoothed over Makkachin’s fur and said to the TV screen displaying Yuuri and Yakov, “Good job, Yuuri. You’re going to advance. My love, _ you did it. _ ”

Yuuko, who sat beside him, gave him an empathetic look and sweet smile. He’d spoken in Russian, but his tone must have been obvious enough to give away his words. 

Recaps of Yuuri’s performance flashed on the screen, the highlights of his spins and jumps in slow motion, blurs of glitter and hands that reached for Viktor's heart right through the pixels of the television.

* * *

He couldn’t hold Yuuri for another pair of days though, when at last he returned to Japan. The hours that dragged on without Yuuri were unbearable. The bite of winter outside had hit him worse than it ever had, even counting the blizzards in Russia that used to knock the power out.

Viktor had been unsteady the whole wait, bouncing his leg anxiously like he’d seen Yuuri do, and his eyes searched endlessly through the crowds for a familiar pair of warm brown eyes behind blue frames.

By the time Makkachin found him, Viktor had already risen from his seat and was dashing down the line of glass separating them. His mind went blank, he had no idea what was in front of him, all he could think about was maintaining eye-contact, of Yuuri’s spine against his palms, the press of his chest, the soft feathers of his dark hair tickling his cheeks. 

And then, at last, Yuuri fell into his open, yearning arms, both of them drinking in a twin lungful of air. Yuuri embraced him tightly, clutching at Viktor’s clothes, burying his face into Viktor’s shoulder and deeply inhaling his scent like it was oxygen. The mix of desperation and relief after a long time of drowning in ice-cold waters was palpable in how they held each other. And Viktor  _ hoped _ , he hoped against a single silver thread that this would be something he’d get to cherish and indulge in for the rest of his life.

A thousand words hung heavily between them. Who would go first? 

It was unexpected for Viktor, who was ready to take the lead.

But for the first time, Yuuri was the one to gather Viktor’s shoulders in his hands, held him in place, and said, loud and steady so there could be no mistake,

“Please be my coach until I retire.”

It reminded Viktor of that night last year at the banquet, Yuuri embracing him, asking him to be his coach… Of course, the airport lights were less harsh, the scent of champagne wasn’t clinging to their lips, and Yuuri’s eyes were sober and an unwavering flame in their desire. The compare and contrast put a dreamy smile on Viktor’s lips, and he pressed that burst of happiness right on Yuuri’s fingers with a kiss.

“It almost sounds like a marriage proposal,” he said, and as soon as it left his lips, he was struck by how little he’d mind if he could  _ actually  _ marry Katsuki Yuuri. It was possibly right at that moment that he realized Yuuri had been holding his own heart of strong, unyielding ice in his hands too...

And he had melted, right under Yuuri’s touch.

With how Yuuri’s smile reached his shimmering eyes and his arms sliding around Viktor once more, Viktor was sure of just how much he adored the man holding him. 

“I wish you’d never retire.” 

The words rolled easily from his tongue.

What was harder was to pull back from their embrace. Viktor ended up tightening his hold on Yuuri to keep him from floating away just yet. Yuuri had no complaints, and eased back against his chest, a stray hand petting fondly over Makkachin’s head.

“Just a bit longer, _ lyubov moya _ ,” Viktor said with a smile. “You feel so warm.”   
  



End file.
